


The Confidentiality Clause

by BeneficialAddiction



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Family Feels, First Christmas, M/M, Santa Claus - Freeform, contract 'clause', wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-08 23:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12875739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneficialAddiction/pseuds/BeneficialAddiction
Summary: When little Kate Barton sits on Santa's lap and makes two Christmas wishes, they have the potential to bring about love or heartbreak.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chocobith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocobith/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my lovely beta - I cannot thank you enough my dear! Any remaining mistakes are all mine - you were amazing!

"But I don't _wanna_ go!" Kate wails, plaintive and shrill so close to Clint's hearing aids. 

Sighing, he finishes zipping the little girl into her coat and fixes her cap and mittens, making sure she's all bundled up for their walk to the subway station. 

"You only get to visit Mama once a year," he says carefully, knowing that he's nowhere near a neutral party in this. "Don't you want to go see her and Nana and PopPop?" 

"No!" she cries, stamping her sparkly pink boot. "I want to stay with _you,_ why can't I stay with _you?"_

Clint feels his shoulders slump, has to hold back a tantrum of his own. 

"We talked about this, remember?" he asks quietly, crouching down in front of her as he shrugs into his own winter jacket. "You live with Daddy because of Mama's work, but she still loves you. She wants to have a turn to see you too. Remember about sharing and taking turns? That's why you go to stay with Nana and PopPop for Christmas; so you and Mama can have a turn to see each other." 

Kate scowls, her face stormy as tears threaten, and Clint knows exactly how she feels. It's a speech he's made plenty of times before, but every year it feels more and more hollow. His daughter is slowly beginning to pick up on his unenthusiastic tone, the hedging behind his words, and she's already drawn her own conclusions about her grandparents, about her mother. 

"You know it would make Daddy happier than anything to get to keep you for Christmas," he murmurs, pulling Kate into a tight hug, swallowing her up in his arms. "But you and Mama always go to stay with Nana and PopPop for Christmas. She has to go just like you - those are the rules." 

"The rules are dumb," she mumbles against his neck, hiding her face in the collar of his hoodie, holding on tight. "Mama doesn't like Nana and PopPop either!"

"I know baby," he consoles, letting her use of a 'bad word' slide this time because really, he couldn't agree more, even though he tries his best to hide that from her. "But we'll have our own Special Christmas when you get back, just like we did last time, ok?" 

"Nobody else has Special Christmas," she grumbles, even as Clint puts her down and pulls open the front door, locking up behind them as they step out into the hallway. "America at school doesn't have special Christmas." 

"America is only one, very small person," Clint points out, relaxing despite her protests because any mention of Kate's best friend America Chavez means the topic of conversation is very likely to be heading in her direction. "Lots of people have Special Christmas. Some people don't have any Christmas!" 

"No Christmas?" she warbles, staring up at him with huge, wet eyes as they head down the stairs for the front door. 

"No Christmas," Clint agrees. "Remember at school, you learned about Hanukkah?" 

"Oh yeah. Cassie has Hanukkah at her house. She gets presents for eight whole days!" 

"But no Christmas," he reminds her, more because he doesn't have her present picked out yet than because he understands the finer details of Jewish holidays. 

"Can I ask Santa for eight days of presents?" she asks hopefully, blinking against the blast of cold air as they step out into the icy New York December. 

"I think you should maybe ask for one, _important_ present," Clint suggests. "The _most_ important. Santa has lots of boys and girls to bring toys for, so we can't be greedy. Plus, it will be easier for Santa to remember." 

Kate's little mouth quirks behind the edge of her scarf and for a minute she's quiet as they trudge along the sidewalk, then she nods. 

"That makes sense," she declares, and Clint hides a grin because somehow he always manages to forget how serious and grown up his little girl can seem sometimes. "I'll just ask for the most important." 

"Good girl," he says, tucking her in close to his side as they reach the stairs leading down to the subway station. "Don't forget to say thank you, ok? Santa still has time to put your name on the naughty list." 

_"Daddy!"_

Clint laughs, tugging one of the purple pompoms dangling from the strings of Kate's hat and holding her hand down the station steps. He picks her up to go through the turnstiles because she'd managed to get stuck the last time she'd tried it herself, and keeps her in his arms while they ride the train into the city. Three stops later they re-emerge back up onto the street in the middle of bustling Christmas foot traffic, and Clint makes sure to keep her little hand tight in his own as they make their way into the sprawling shopping mall. 

To be perfectly honest, Clint's not a huge fan of places like this. Too many people, too much color, too much movement when he can't be up high watching and too much noise for him to separate _any_ of it, but like any child his daughter loves the craziness of Christmastime, and he does everything he can to give her a happy holiday before her mother whisks her away for a week with her grandparents in Northern Maine. He himself usually ends up spending the entire week alone, depressed and brooding, holed up in his apartment while the holiday passes until he can treat Kate to Special Christmas whenever she gets back – sometimes as late as New Year's. It's hard and getting harder as each holiday season goes by, especially now that Kate is becoming so resentful of the time she has to spend away, but he'd promised when all this started that he wouldn't let his daughter become poisoned against Bobbi, no matter how awful her own parents were. 

"Daddy, Daddy, there he is!" 

Clint grins as his daughter jumps up and down, beaming as she tugs his sleeve and tries to drag him in the direction of the mall's Winter Wonderland display. It's the same as it is every year but her excitement is still as bright and new as it was the very first time he'd brought her here to sit on Santa's lap at age three. Mountains of fake snow line the roped-off display area in the center of the mall's main floor, Christmas trees and plastic reindeer and stacked piles of cardboard presents all ringed around the elevated, throne-like chair in the center, where, yes, Santa sits like a king lording over his tiny subjects. 

It's all a tiny bit gimmicky – the Christmas display is actually put on by the Veteran's Association, charitably hosted by one of the smaller malls nearby – but the heart of it is in the right place and the volunteers dressed as elves are certainly putting their all into it. They come to the neighborhood every year to make sure that the families of deployed or fallen soldiers get a happy holiday, running food and toy drives that he and Kate have already donated to in order to help those less fortunate. It's been going for as long as Clint's lived in Bed Stuy, and they obviously know what they're doing - their fundraisers are always a huge success and they keep the line moving along at a nice pace which Clint is thankful for. The brightly dressed elves hoist kids up onto Santa's lap one at a time then help them down again, handing out candy canes and sugar cookies and sending them on their way, all while dancing around and jingling the bells on their boots to keep those waiting entertained. 

_'Better you than me, buddy,'_ he thinks as they slowly creep closer – he'd always thought red and green clashed horribly. 

Plus, keeping one small child content and calm is more than enough of a challenge for him most days. 

A whole swarm of them... he'd rather be back on the frontlines. 

Fatherhood was way scarier to him than the Marine Corp was. 

Clint listens distractedly to Katie chatter about all the things that catch her attention from the display – it's mostly a low buzz in his electronic ears – and does his best to stay cheery in the middle of all the Christmas fluff. It's hard when he knows he has to drive his little girl up to the airport in four days, hand her off to his ex-wife and watch her hold back tears and drag her feet as their flight boards. It sucks actually. He's halfway to hating the holiday season, and that's not what he'd ever wanted. Even in the orphanage, even in the circus, Christmas had always been special. Losing his little girl for a week would be hard enough without throwing the holiday into it - Christmas is supposed to be all about family, and not the way Mother and Father Morse do it.

God, he feels as bad for Bobbi as he does for himself. He knows how hard it is on her to go back to her parents' house, how different she is when she's with them. She has a tough enough time connecting with Kate on those rare occasions that she's in New York long enough to have lunch with them, to join them on a walk in the park or take Kate along to a movie. With her judgey parents around to make her feel completely inadequate it's nearly impossible.

He thinks she'd actually rather hide out as his place for the week than go up to Maine, thinks she'd willingly leave Kate with him as hard as it would be if it meant she never saw them again.

Still, it's hard, makes him feel angry and frustrated and guilty and depressed even though he's mostly learned to hide it from little Kate by now. 

The emotions sit hot and heavy in the pit of his belly as he and Katie approach Santa's chair, the little girl bouncing faster and faster on her toes the closer they get, until very suddenly he recognizes one of the dancing elves decked out in tights and bells and his stomach goes swooping right out from under him. 

Jasper Sitwell is a good guy – makes a pretty good elf too – but to be honest, as good as he looks in the tights he's not exactly Clint's type. Thing is though, wherever Jasper can be found, it's very likely that one Phil Coulson is nearby, and Phil? 

Phil always gets Clint's heart flipping over, gets it beating double time in his chest. 

Phil, Clint kind of has a huge crush on. 

Phil had moved in across the hall from Clint and Katie two years ago. The guy's incredibly attractive and he is _exactly_ Clint's type – former Army, calm and cool badass all wrapped up tight in this sweet, competent, sexy package, and he's gotta be around here somewhere, he's... 

He's... 

Holy god, he's _Santa._

Clint would recognize those blue eyes anywhere. 

"Daddy, Daddy!" Kate cheers, jumping up and down excitedly and nearly yanking his arm out of socket as their turn comes up. "Daddy, it's Santa!" 

"Sure is," he agrees dumbly as Jasper steps up and takes Kate by the hand. "Make sure you smile so I can take your picture." 

"I _will,"_ she whines, already dragging Jasper toward the steps. 

The elf is snickering and shoots Clint a smirk over his shoulder as he hoists Kate up onto Phil's knee, but Saint Nick himself is staring right at him, his own grin poorly hidden behind the fluffy white beard and curled mustache. He gets Kate settled in his lap and smiles down at her and _Ho-Ho-Ho's,_ and Clint just _melts_ because he's always loved the way Phil treats her, the way he's never seemed doubtful of Clint's ability to be a single father. Something far more heated than simple lust warms his chest as he watches Kate lean up to whisper her wishes in his ear, and he has to distract himself for a minute, look away to fish for his phone and open up the camera app. 

He nearly fumbles the stupid thing when he looks up again, when he sees Phil – _Santa_ \- suddenly leaning in close and hugging his little girl fiercely, but he manages to snap a couple quick pictures all the same. 

They can't linger – there's still a line – but he can't help but throw Phil a goofy little wave as Jasper helps Kate down and slips her a double pay-out of candy canes, a wave that's immediately returned even if it kind of breaks character. As he pulls himself away and leads Katie back towards the mall exit and the snowy streets outside, he realizes that his best friend Natasha is probably right – he is hopelessly in love with that man. 

He can't think of any other reason he's jealous of his six-year-old for getting to sit in Santa's lap.


	2. Chapter 2

Being former Army, Phil Coulson is always willing to volunteer with fellow servicemen around the city alongside his best friend and former squad member Jasper Sitwell. He doesn't mind the community service and it keeps him occupied in his semi-retirement, and it most usually results in him being rewarded with coffee and excellent diner food when it's over. They've worked at the humane society, several soup kitchens, a children's library, and multiple Habitat for Humanity locations, but Jasper has never dragged him to the local mall before. 

He makes it all the way into the employee restroom of the Auntie Anne's pretzel shop, suit bag in hand, before he realizes what's about to happen, before he regrets his off-hand agreement to Jasper's schemes. A quick mental calculation makes him realize exactly what day it is, exactly how close to Christmas, and a rush of dread suddenly washes over him as his fingers clutch at the hanger in his hands. 

Sure enough, when he unzips the bag, there's a splash of bright red inside, a fluff of white at the bottom. Red suit, red hat, beard and pillow to stuff his belly with... stupidly enough, he wasn't ready for this. 

He's not upset of course, far from it, but this particular volunteer project isn't something he would have chosen for himself this year. He enjoys Christmas, especially now that his niece and nephew and young cousins are at that age to bring all the joy to it that children can. The Coulson family usually gets together Christmas day for dinner and a few presents, a snowball fight if they can manage it, but this year will be different. This year his sister Beth and her husband are taking the twins Ellie and Eli to England for the week of the holiday, leaving Phil at home alone and to his own devices. 

They'd invited him to go along, but he'd felt he would be a bit of a party crasher to the vacation, and had determined that he would survive staying at home just fine even if it put him in a bit of a grey mood. Jasper is already making noise about a sort of Christmas version of 'friends-giving' a day or two after, just so he won't be entirely at loose ends but it all seems like a bit much in his mind. He's not interested in a pity party, even if the prospect of spending the holiday alone has left him feeling a little bleak.

Still... 

_'Perhaps it's a good thing,'_ he muses as he steps carefully into the rented suit, relieved that it smells of nothing worse than a bit of stale air. 

Jasper might be cleverer than Phil gave him credit for. 

If dressing up as Santa and making a lot of little kids happy so close to Christmas can't get him into the swing of things, what possibly could? 

With a newfound optimism he finishes with the hat and jacket and fixes the beard onto his face, a bit startled when he looks in the mirror to find that everything pretty much fits and he doesn't look too much like a poorly dressed mall Santa. 

A little unnerving that; he may not be as fit as he was in his Ranger days, or have as much hair, but he's not ready to be considered old just yet. 

As he makes a few last-minute adjustments to his suit, Phil tries bitterly not to think of his preoccupation with his age and appearance, with his _neighbor._ He'd first met Clint Barton the weekend he'd moved in to the rent-controlled apartment building that housed several service members and their families, and had been nearly struck dumb with a heady bolt of lust when they'd bumped in to each other in the hall. Young and strong, with incredible shoulders and gorgeous eyes, the man was the embodiment of one of Phil's wet dreams; naturally, he had then managed to make an utter fool of himself in his introduction, blushing and stammering awkwardly. Clint had turned out to be cheerful and friendly and sweet, open and honest in a way one rarely saw anymore, but Phil had still been so utterly mortified by his complete lack of suave that he'd retreated with haste (and no doubt rudeness) back behind a wall of moving boxes into his new apartment. He hadn't gotten any smoother since.

He'd met Clint's daughter soon after, and as much as he'd come to adore the little girl he'd felt a pang of loss upon _that_ introduction. Despite the absence of a wedding ring it had been easy to assume that Clint was married, partnered at the very least given how adorable and charming both father and daughter were, but after several weeks of missed opportunities and only a little pathetic moping, a casual conversation in the basement laundry room had proved his assumption wrong. Clint was entirely unattached, sweet, steadfast, and dependable, a wonderful friend to anyone who asked it of him. Little Kate had any number of 'aunts' and 'uncles' that adored and doted on her, and Clint, whom Phil would give most anything for a shot at, seemed perfectly content living a life of happy single-fatherhood. 

They're friends at least. He consoles himself with this as he emerges from the bathroom and slips along the curtains lining half of the mall's food court to make his grand appearance in their little 'Winter Wonderland' display. They hang out a lot, in _both_ their apartments, and Phil thinks Clint looks forward to their occasional late-night talks, after Kate has been put to bed and the man lets himself indulge in adult tv, adult beverages, adult talk and adult company. 

So what if Phil wishes they sometimes indulged in other adult activities together? 

He knows it's the remotest of possibilities - Clint's never made a serious move on him despite his flirtatious nature, and he still speaks incredibly warmly of his ex-wife - so it's something he can usually push to the back of his mind and not worry about. He keeps himself fit and well-dressed out of habit and yes, a little hope, leaves himself open to and accepting of Clint's casual flirtations, but the man has never pushed for more so Phil doesn't push either. 

He likes what they have – the jokes in the hallway, the occasional lunches, the late-night talks. 

He wouldn't give that up for much of anything. 

Refocusing on the task at hand, Phil waits for a wave from Jasper, all bedecked in his elven costume, before emerging into the holiday scene with a resounding _Ho-Ho-Ho_ that he hopes meets muster. He hadn't had the chance to practice – thanks for that Sitwell – but if the cheers from the shorter crowd are anything to go by he did just fine. After circling the Wonderland, waving and patting a few of his plastic reindeer on the nose, he takes his seat on the strangely throne-like chair in the center of the display and starts receiving kids. 

The next three hours pass in a near blur for him, child after child placed on his knee. It's a good thing he doesn't have arthritis because some of them are far too big already for Santa's lap. Jasper's smart enough to swap out left and right though, and Phil gets a break every forty minutes or so to stand and loosen the creaks in his spine, to get a drink and shake the tingles out of his boots. 

It's fun. He hadn't thought it would be, but these kids are smiling and excited and awe-filled and it's everything Christmas should be. He hears a lot of the expected requests – a firetruck, an iPod, a pony – but he hears some more interesting ones as well. A little girl asks for rainbow toe socks, a little boy asks for the original Godzilla movie on DVD (a man after his own heart), but his favorite thus far had to be the studious little girl in wire-rimmed glasses who asked for tickets to the New York symphony orchestra. 

Still, it's a bit of an exhausting afternoon, and as he retakes his seat for the fifth or sixth time, he has to hold back a sigh at the sight of the remaining children waiting in line. Jasper is still dancing about with the boundless energy he's always had and Phil has never understood, but Phil can feel himself starting to sag. 

He needs caffeine – he doesn't think anything less than a double shot of espresso and a large Americano will do it. 

That is, until he spots a familiar little girl bouncing up and down on her toes three kids back from the front of the line. 

Kate Barton. 

A smile spreads across his face beneath the scratchy fake beard. He's kind of fallen for the precocious six-year-old as much as he has for her father, who is standing right beside her. Clint's got that little grin on his face that makes Phil's stomach fill up with butterflies like some kind of teenager, and he smiles back as best he can through his fluffy white facial hair. He hardly hears what the next two children say; the next thing he knows Jasper is helping Kate up onto his knee, all bright blue eyes and black curls beneath her purple pompom hat and he's doing his best to deepen his voice so she won't recognize him. 

"And what's your name?" he asks, biting back a chuckle when Kate blushes, then immediately rallies and flicks her hair back like a little princess. 

"Kate Barton," she announces proudly, then she leans close and becomes very, very serious as she sometimes is wont to do. "Um, Mr. Santa, would it be ok if I asked for two presents this year please?" 

"Two?" he asks, faking his surprise, because he's had kids on his knee today that demanded a whole list of things without a please or a thank you. 

"Yes please," Kate repeats, folding her hands in her lap. "Daddy said I should only ask for the most important present, but they're _both_ important. An' I was really, _really_ good this year an' one present is for me but one present is for Daddy!" 

"One for you and one for your papa hmm?" he muses, stroking his beard thoughtfully, as if he actually has to think about whether or not he'd like to get a gift for the man himself. "Well, if you were very, _very_ good..." 

"I was, I promise!" she insists, nodding fervently. 

"All right then, let's hear it." 

Grinning brightly, Kate leans in and puts up her hand to whisper in his ear. 

"I wanna stay home with Daddy for Christmas this year," she says quietly, and Phil's heart gives a painful thump in his chest. "I don't wanna go with Mama." 

He swallows, _hard,_ because he'd known the little girl had gone away for the holidays the year before, but he hadn't realized she... didn't want to go. He's not prepared for this – nearly all the other kids had asked for toys – and what _do_ you tell a little girl caught in the middle of a custody arrangement? 

"If it's ok, I want my present to be that I get to stay home," the little girl says, sitting back and looking thoughtful. "But Daddy says I have to go, so I guess if I can't that's not your fault." 

Jesus, he's sweating. She's very nearly given him a heart attack here before giving him that out, and if it's not that, she's _breaking_ his heart. 

"But if I have to go then you really, _really_ have to get Daddy _his_ present, ok?" the little girl insists, eyes huge and round and pleading, and oh god, he knows _exactly_ where she gets that puppy-dog look. He's _helpless_ to that look. "Cause if I have to go to Mama's I don't want Daddy to be all by himself. So you have to bring him a friend for Christmas, like maybe Mr. Phil." 

"Mr. Phil?" he parrots stupidly, because his chest is aching and he can't think and he's half panicked here ok? Because yes, he and Clint _are_ friends, but are he and Kate? 

"Yeah," she says slowly, chewing her lip before nodding solemnly. "I like Mr. Phil – he's really nice. He would make a good Christmas friend I think. Plus, I heard Daddy tell Aunt Nat that he wants to unwrap Mr. Phil as a present." 

Wait... _what?_

Phil's pretty sure he whites out there for a second because he's pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear that, and he's one hundred percent sure that little Kate wasn't. 

Does Clint... did he really say that? 

Did he _mean_ it? 

"I just want everybody to be happy," he hears Kate say, a little sad, a little forlorn. "I think if we stay together we will be. So that's what I want for Christmas, ok?" 

His throat is too tight to answer her, his eyes stinging, so instead he swoops in and gives her a tight hug that maybe goes on a little too long for someone who's supposed to be a stranger. This little girl is perfect, her dad is perfect, and Phil... he has a lot of thinking to do. 

"I'll see what I can do," he promises, breaking character a bit but screw it. "You're a very good girl to want everybody else to be happy too. You have a Merry Christmas, ok?" 

"Yes Sir!" she chirrups with a smile, and then she's hopping down, accepting her candy canes from Jasper, and skipping back to her father's side without a care in the world. 

Phil, whose mouth has gone dry and whose heart is hammering in his chest, watches her return to her dad's side. Clint grins at him and sends him a little wave, which he returns out of habit more than anything, and then the two turn and disappear in to the crowded mall. Stunned and a little shaky, Phil gives Jasper a look and practically flees his chair, slipping behind the curtains and tugging off the hat and beard in a bid for a breath of air. 

What had just happened? 

Little Kate Barton has broken his heart and given him more joyous hope in the last five minutes than he's had in the two years he's known her and her father. He's known them for so long, and yes, he'd tried flirting back at Clint a few times early on, once he'd gotten his feet under him, but he'd never picked up on any real sign that Clint was _actually_ interested...

Could he have been reading him wrong this whole time? 

He has to concede that it's perfectly possible - he's not exactly the epitome of cool and collected where Clint's concerned. Now it almost seems too late to hope, and he feels sick realizing that his opportunity may have come and gone without him even realizing it.

A dozen worries twist up inside him like a knot, but a few deep breaths and a little self-scolding get him through it. This isn't a catastrophe, nothing terrible has happened here. Perhaps he _can't_ do anything to keep Kate home for Christmas, but he doesn't believe Clint would send her to her mother's if the woman was neglectful or abusive in any way. It may not be ideal, but the trip won't do lasting harm to the little girl. 

Her second wish on the other hand... 

Well, that he could do, right? 

At the very least he can offer to keep Clint company over the holiday – they'll both be alone this year and that's something friends do right? 

It might be selfish, and it might be entirely outside of the spirit in which it was meant, but if he can make all three of their Christmas wishes come true who is he, Santa himself, to stand in the way?


	3. Chapter 3

"All right Coulson, spill." 

Phil startles, very nearly fumbling the bowl of popcorn he's carrying into Clint's living room. 

It's less than a week after his encounter with little Kate in the mall, the night before she's to be driven to the airport to meet her mother, and with Christmas only a few days away he's come over to put his plan into action. Though to be fair, as far as plans go, it's not much different than what he normally does, just... with more intent. He's waited till Clint's put his daughter to bed, brought over his copy of _Alien,_ and made the popcorn on the stove because he won't eat it out of the microwave, where Clint didn't even know that popcorn _came_ any other way. 

Not that different. 

So the fact that Phil's heart has started racing in response to Clint's question is completely understandable right? 

Because there's no way he's realized that something's off already - Phil is more subtle than _that._

Even if he has, why would he sound so mockingly disappointed? 

"Don't give me that look, Mr. Butter-Won't-Melt-in-My-Mouth," Clint says scoldingly, but even from across the room Phil can see the grin tugging at the corners of Clint's mouth.

He's slumped low in the middle of his monstrous purple couch, his feet kicked up on the coffee table beside the coloring book and crayons and empty coffee mugs left scattered across its scarred surface, and he looks warm and rumpled in his sweats and his hoodie; a look Phil _hates_ on him because it makes him want to crawl into his lap and snuggle. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he insists after clearing his throat, forcing his stupid feet to unstick themselves from the floor. 

Clint narrows his eyes, watching him approach in observant silence, then chuckles when Phil thumps the popcorn bowl down into his lap and tucks himself into the corner beside him. They're so close that their thighs press together and he can feel Clint's body heat, and yeah, it's probably closer than most male friends might sit, but Clint's like that with all his friends, always takes the middle of the couch. 

He's just cuddly; it's fine, totally normal for them. 

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Clint insists, bumping Phil's shoulder and nearly making him spill the beer he'd picked up, now mostly just a way to keep his hands busy. "Come on, _Santa,_ help a guy out. I've got a couple ideas, but honestly, I have no clue what she wants for Christmas this year. So spill!" 

Oh. 

Oh... _crap._

"I, uh..." he mumbles, caught like a deer-in-the-headlights, because how do you tell a guy that without crushing him? "That's confidential." 

Clint blinks, stares, then barks a laugh, but hey – Phil was only Black Ops for a couple of decades – it's his default brush-off. 

"Aw, come on Phil," he purrs, slumping sideways to lean his head on Phil's shoulder and look up at him from beneath his lashes, fluttering them outrageously. "I won't tell anybody, promise!" 

"Nope," Phil denies with a shake of his head, leaning forward to hit the _Play_ button on the remote. "Confidentiality Clause, Barton – all kid/Santa conversations are strictly Christmas secrets." 

"Spoilsport," Clint huffs, crossing his arms and returning his attention to the TV. He still stays close, curled up against Phil's side, in a perfect position for Phil to wrap an arm around his shoulders if he was brave enough... 

"Anyway, isn't it a little late to be Christmas shopping?" Phil asks abruptly as the movie begins to play, his cheeks hot as he sticks his hand into the bowl on Clint's lap. "You've got less than a week." 

"I've got more than a week," Clint mutters bitterly, and Phil practically chokes on the popcorn he inhales.  
Idiot. 

Of course he's got more time – Kate is... 

"Kate goes to stay with her mom for Christmas," Clint says quietly, and when Phil glances down his face is somber, his gaze far away. "Every year, every Christmas." 

"Clint..." 

"Bobbi's this globetrotting reporter, right?" he rushes on, like he needs to get it all out, and hell, maybe he does. "I was based out of Camp Hope, in Baghdad, and she was doing this piece on the military reusing Kevlar till it was basically shit... god she was beautiful, even behind the camera." 

Phil swallows, watches Clint go quiet and far away. 

"She interviewed me, when she found out I was one of the first guys on the ground with the new generation Stark vest," he continues. "I showed her around, took her to dinner in the mess, and we just... fell." 

Clint blinks, huffs a sigh, and sits up straighter on the couch. 

"It was weird, you know? I'd never been in love like that; where you hardly ever wrote to them cause you didn't have the time, and they hardly ever saw you cause they were half the world away, but it was ok because you still loved each other. I took leave between deployments and she turned up on my doorstep the day after I got home, non-stop flight from Australia back to the states. We didn’t think about it; we just got in the car, drove all night till we got to Vegas and got hitched in a casino chapel. Spent half the night in an In-n-Out, just... just laughing." 

Phil nods, unwilling to break the tenuous quiet between them, even as Clint sort of... pours out his heart to him. He doesn't know where this is going, is surprised it doesn't hurt the way he thinks it should, listening to him talk about his ex, so he just sits back and listens, his thumb brushing slowly across Clint's shoulder. 

"I got blown up," Clint says suddenly, woodenly, and Phil's chest tightens even though he'd known that, even though he'd guessed. Clint makes a vague gesture around his temple, indicating the large, purple hearing aids wrapped around his ears before dropping his hand back into his lap and turning his head away. 

"I got blown up," he repeats, "And I was damned lucky. Busted leg, shattered skull, perforated ear drums... I got shipped back stateside to a military hospital and the next thing I know I wake up and Bobbi's sobbing beside my bed, four months pregnant and the world going to fucking hell around her... 

Sighing sharply, Clint sits forward out of Phil's awkward half-hug and snags his beer off the coffee table, swigs the last of it down. 

"She didn't want a baby," he says. "Can't blame her. She loved what she did, she was _good_ at it. Like, award-winning good. Still have that article she did about the vests; clipped it out of a magazine and carried it with me in my pocket. A kid would have put an end to that, and then what would she have done? Husband was no good; hearing shot to shit, out of a job, still busting my ass through physical therapy just to walk on my own..." 

Clint's eyes go dark, his jaw ticks. 

"We talked about options," he mumbles, twisting the beer bottle in his hands. "Adoption, ab... I couldn't do it. I never knew how much I wanted to _be_ a dad until I was. And she was _mine,_ mine and Bobbi's, and we were gonna be a family, and... And that was the beginning of the end for us. We'd only been married for a couple of years but we'd been happy, at least until..." 

"It wasn't your fault," Phil says, sick at the sound of guilt in Clint's voice. Being blown up, being deafened, none of that was his... 

"It _was_ my fault," Clint insists. "I was asking her to choose, between me and the career she loved, that she'd worked so hard for. I knew I was doing it, I knew it wasn't fair, but I... fuck Phil, I'd felt that baby kick. I put my hand on her belly and I felt that baby kick and I couldn't _not_ fight for her." 

Phil watches Clint lift his head, look over the framed photos scattered about the living room, flick a glance up the hallway to a sleeping Kate's bedroom. 

"We made a deal," he continues, his voice hoarse. "Bobbi'd turn over all parental rights if I took full custody, and we'd get a divorce as soon as the paperwork went through. That was her only stipulation. I loved her, but after what she was doing for me, how could I not... give her that?" 

Unsure of his welcome now but determined to offer, Phil drops his arm lightly around Clint's shoulders and the man immediately sighs with relief, leans back into his touch, so Phil pulls him in tight against his side and moves the popcorn bowl out of the way so Clint can draw his knees up to his chest. 

"So that was it," he says dully, hands twisting together in his lap. "Kate was born and the papers were signed and that was it. Until Mother and Father Morse found out and blew the whistle on the whole thing." 

Phil blinks, shocked by the sudden venom flooding Clint's voice, the anger bubbling so hot and close to the surface. 

"They demanded fifty-fifty custody," he snarls quietly, hands in fists now. "Even though she wasn't even _theirs._ When Bobbi tried to tell them off, tried to tell them she'd agreed to it all they threatened to just take her. Said no court would give a baby to a single father, a _deaf_ father, fresh out of the hospital, living off his VA benefits... Even started making noise about PTSD and all the servicemen coming home and flipping out and killing their families in their sleep..." 

Well... 

That explains the anger. 

Phil feels his own blood start to boil, both as an Army man and just as a decent fucking human being. 

What kind of people... 

"They're shit but they were right," Clint remarks coldly, doing little to soothe Phil's own stinging anger. "Courts would've probably sided with them, even with Bobbi on my team. She's amazing though, always was. Still don't know how she managed it, but she got them to agree to Christmas, just one week out of the whole year. I just wish..." 

Clint sniffs, shakes his head. 

"It was Christmas or nothing," he says tightly. "Worth it, but..." 

"But it's hard." 

"Yeah." 

A few minutes pass, all quiet but for the movie playing a low, foreboding soundtrack in the background. Clint is staring out the window, watching the few white flakes fluttering down, and Phil can't think of anything to do but what he's already doing; keeping his arm wrapped around Clint's shoulders like an anchor; a silent, open offer for more or less as needed. Shivering, Clint presses closer against Phil's side, turns to face him with an expression that Phil can't quite read, and very, very suddenly he thinks that they're about to... 

The muted chime of a cell phone shatters the moment like glass, and it isn't until he jerks sharply backward that he realized they'd started leaning toward each other at all. 

"Right, um... sorry," Clint mumbles, dragging his hand through his hair and fishing his phone out of his pocket, cheeks red and eyes downcast. "Sorry, I... major downer." 

Retrieving the source of Phil's abrupt and intense hatred, Clint checks the screen, huffs, and offers him a melancholy smile. 

"Speak of your troubles and they shall appear," he mumbles wryly, swiping across the screen and bringing the phone to his ear. "Hey Bob." 

As Clint shoves up off the couch and takes a step toward the kitchen, Phil sits back and takes a long, shaky breath, rubs his hands down his thighs – always jeans, somehow less intimate than sweats – and tries to settle the heavy thumping of his heart. 

"What do you mean you can't make it?" Clint asks suddenly, worry coloring his voice, and Phil feels his neck actually crack his head snaps in his direction so fast. "Bobbi, are you ok?" 

Licking his lips, nodding, Clint turns and crosses the room, pulls back the curtain and peers out the window. 

"No, it's barely coming down," he says softly, ducking to down to look past the railing of the fire escape. "The planes are all grounded?" 

Surprised, Phil quietly pauses their movie and flips the TV over to cable, finds the weather channel and turns it down. He can hear Clint murmuring to his ex in the corner but is caught by the images on the screen, stunned by the massive snowstorm that has appeared just north of New York but is threatening to engulf them too as early as the next morning. 

"Clint," he murmurs, and he can feel the man moving to stand over him just behind the couch, can feel him staring at the broadcast with mild shock. 

"No, no I..." he mumbles, suddenly much subdued. "No _of course_ I'm happy to have her for Christmas, but Bobbi..." 

He's quiet for a long moment, concern and sadness written into all the lines of his face. 

"You know that's not true," Clint says consolingly, and very suddenly Phil feels like a third wheel in the conversation, like he's eavesdropping where he shouldn't. "Aw Bobbi, no..." 

The cadence of a pained but passionate insistence follows. 

"Ok, ok," Clint soothes some minutes later, and Phil feels Clint's hand light on his shoulder, like the man can't help but reach out to someone in that moment. "No Bobs, I get it. You know I... Yeah. Yeah, I know that. Listen, would it be ok if we Skyped you or something? Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. Thanks Bob. Take care of yourself, ok? I will. Hey, Merry Christmas yeah? Bye." 

True silence reigns for all of a moment before Clint slowly rounds the end of the couch, sinks down beside him with his elbows on his knees, and goes still. 

"Clint?" Phil asks cautiously, unnerved by the way he's staring blankly at the weather forecast still washing pink and yellow across the television screen. "Clint, what's wrong?" 

"Storm," he mumbles flatly, gesturing at the television, at the unexpected storm making its way across the country. "All the airports in Maine are grounded. New York'll probably go down tomorrow morning. Bobbi can't make it." 

Phil’s heart thumps unpleasantly against his ribs and he’s not sure why, but he has a brief flash of intuition that this isn’t even a fraction of the confusion that Clint himself must be feeling. 

“That’s ok though, right?” he asks softly, keeping his tone non-judgmental and mildly curious. “That’s what you wanted?” 

“Well yeah but…” Clint squeaks, waving his hand like it should all make perfect sense. “She’s supposed to go to Bobbi’s for Christmas. That’s how it works. I… I always promised I’d never be that guy, that I’d never keep her away if Kate _or_ Bobbi wanted to..." 

Sighing, Clint scrubs his hands through his hair. 

"She thinks Kate'll be relieved," he mumbles. "She tries so damned hard, Phil, and she _does_ love Katie as best she can, but she's just not very good with kids. She's stiff and awkward and _nervous..._ hell, I'd let her run a battalion before I let her run a household. But she does her best, every damned year, even though she probably hates being in her parents' house more than Kate does... She thinks she'll be _happy._ I... I never wanted _that."_

"No one would blame you for wanting to spend Christmas with your daughter Clint," Phil says quietly. "It's hardly the same." 

"Maybe not," Clint huffs. "But I still... I know Kate doesn't _like_ to go. Hell, _I_ wouldn't want to, Bobbi doesn't. Her parents are... difficult people. Prim-and-proper, religious white collar... Always felt like a scrub around them. But I tried hard to make her understand, I _did._ To make her... maybe not _thrilled_ to go but at least _willing_ to go. I don't want her to hate her mom. But here I am fucking ecstatic that she gets to stay and _terrified_ that she won't want to..." 

"She won't be disappointed," Phil reassures him, reaching out to squeeze Clint's forearm, because he has it on good authority that she won't. "You'll explain it as best she can understand, and she'll know that her dad _and_ her mom love her. She loves _you_ Clint. She'll be so happy that she gets to stay home with her dad for Christmas." 

“You think?” Clint asks, and his uncertainty actually breaks Phil’s heart. 

“I’m sure of it,” he says with conviction. Glancing out the window, he notes that the promised snow, the first _real_ snow of the year, is truly starting to come down now, flakes thick and white in the air. “Why don’t you go wake her up and tell her the news,” he suggests, jerking his chin toward the frosted glass. “It’s not _too_ late.” 

“Yeah,” Clint mumbles, eyes big and dark and full of a wary wonder as he follows Phil’s gaze. “Yeah, I’ll…” 

He doesn’t finish. He just gets up and disappears silently down the hallway toward the bedrooms, leaving Phil alone on his couch and filled with a wonder of his own. Strange, he thinks, how things work out sometimes. Little Kate asks Santa to keep her home for Christmas and now a sudden snowstorm blown up out of the blue, grounding airports in multiple states and preventing her mother from coming to collect her. 

Well. 

They say Christmas is the time for miracles. 

Who says a colossal snowstorm can't fit that bill?


	4. Chapter 4

Clint moves like he’s in a daze, like he’s not really inside of his body. 

His entire immediate future has changed in the last fifteen minutes and he doesn’t know how it happened. 

He was just… just watching a movie with Phil, like they always do, and then… 

And then suddenly for some stupid reason he was spilling out nearly his whole sordid history for no good reason, airing all his pathetic laundry in front of the man he was hopelessly gone on, and hell, what was he thinking? 

Way to go Barton – blab all about the ex and your spectacularly failed marriage to the guy you’re sweet on. 

He’s a freaking genius. 

It’s not that he’s not happy, ok? This is what he wanted after all. He’s over the moon that he gets to keep Kate for Christmas, and it’s not like he’d had plans he has to rewrite. It’s just Bobbi, god, Bobbi, who had never wanted to be a mom but whose parents forced her to be every year for the holiday, who was so awkwardly stiff and terrible at it even though she tried... 

His heart still aches for her. 

This snowstorm is his Christmas miracle, and it hurts to think that it might be hers too. 

See, they're still on good terms, him and Bobbi. 

They talk sometimes, not often, but enough for him to know what it's like for her to go back home, to be seen as a failure in her parents' eyes because she wasn't a shining example of a good Catholic wife. He can only imagine the tension in that house over Christmas; the things that are said over his little girl's head, within her hearing. 

He fears it's cruel on both of them, and wonders if this isn't for the best. 

Phil seems to think Kate will be happy with this turn of events. 

Clint certainly hopes so. 

He doesn’t know if he could handle finding out that the prospect of staying with him for Christmas would actually break his little girl’s heart. 

Silly probably, to be so worried - Kate’s been so adamant thus far about wanting to stay home, about having no desire whatever to go stay with her mother and her grandparents in Maine, no matter how much Clint cajoles - but as he walks down the hallway toward her room with his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, he's praying that’s still the case. 

If that makes him a bad person, well, he never claimed to be a good one. 

Slipping into Kate’s room, he finds the edge of the bed by virtue of her unicorn-shaped nightlight and sits down, rubs her back gently. She sleeps on her belly just like he does, and snuggles deeper into her pillow when he starts to hum their Good Morning Song. 

“Wake up baby-girl,” he murmurs, brushing her hair back from her face. “I want to show you something.” 

“Daddy?” she asks tremulously, no doubt confused by being woken only two hours after bedtime. “ ‘S it time to get up?” 

“Not yet sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head as she sits up and rubs at her eyes. “But Daddy’s got a surprise for you.” 

“Is it Christmas already?” 

“No,” he chuckles, flicking the paper chain taped beside her pillow that she’s been using to count down the days. There are extra links there, counting down the days to Special Christmas, but even without there are a few too many to mistake. “Not yet. But this surprise came early.” 

“Did Santa bring it?” she asks as Clint scoops her up, quilt and all in an effort to keep her warm and stop her from coming fully-awake. 

“Maybe,” he allows, stepping back out into the hallway. “You’ll have to tell me what you think.” 

Carrying her into the living room, he’s well aware that Phil’s eyes are following him from his seat on the couch, and not for the first time Clint is glad that he went out and bought a decent pair of sweats and a couple of nice t-shirts to lounge around in when he’s over. Wouldn’t do to be walking around with holes and stretched out hems like he does on Saturday mornings when it’s just him and Kate. 

“Look baby,” he says quietly, leaning his hip against the sill and pointing out the window where fat, white flakes are coming down faster and faster. “See?” 

“Snow!” she gasps, and Clint smiles. 

She’s seen it before, of course, but she’d still been so young last year. Now six, he suspects this will be the first real, fully-formed Christmas memories she has, and if he even begins to start analyzing how that makes him feel he might snap right here and now and start crying all over her. 

“Daddy, there’s snow!” 

“Yup,” he replies, clearing his throat and carrying her back toward the couch where she can see the television screen, still tuned in to the muted weather channel. “Lots of snow. See that big blob in the middle – the pink and yellow one?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“That’s all a big snowstorm. The weatherman said that by tomorrow morning there’ll be enough snow that all the buses and the airplanes won’t be able to do their job.” 

Kate is quiet, tilts her head as she studies the screen. 

“I talked to Mama,” Clint says slowly. “There’s already a lot of snow up where Nana and PopPop live. The airplanes can’t fly so it’s not safe for her to come and pick you up tomorrow.” 

Kate jerks her head and stares up at him with some small alarm, her hair tangled and her cheeks pink from sleep. 

“But where am I s’pposed to go?” 

“Well you’re gonna stay home with Daddy,” he explains, and god he’s scared, he’s so scared of telling her this, of what she might say. “Do you think that would be alright?” 

“I get to stay home with you for Christmas?” she warbles, and then promptly bursts into tears before he’s even finished nodding yes. 

“Oh thank you Daddy, thank you, thank you!” she sobs, and Clint turns to stare at Phil with shock and confusion as his little girl cries into his shirt collar. 

The guy is biting his lip, looks like he’s trying not to laugh, not to smugly say I-told-you-so, and Clint guesses he can forgive him for that. 

He kind of deserves it. 

Ducking his head, he nuzzles Kate’s cheek, rubs her back and breathes in the familiar scent of her Strawberry Fairy shampoo. 

“Don’t cry baby,” he pleads, peppering her hair with kisses. “We’re gonna have a good Christmas ok? I promise. It’s not Mama’s fault – you know she loves you a whole lot. Maybe you and Mama can visit after Christmas - would that be better?” 

“No!” Kate declares adamantly, crossing her little arms inside her blanket burrito. “I want to stay home! I want to stay home with you and Mr. Phil!” 

Clint blinks, surprised that she had included Phil in her demand, but pleased nonetheless. He’s careful how much he says in front of her, always careful, especially when her Aunty Nat is around since Aunty Nat does so love to stir the pot, but he adores the way Phil is with his little girl, and it relieves and cheers him to no end that she seems to adore him right back. 

Looking a bit surprised to be included himself, Phil still offers her a grin and reaches up to pinch her toes playfully where her foot dangles down near Clint’s hip. Wiggling her foot back at him, Kate wraps her arms around his neck and cuddles up underneath his chin, still snuggled in her pink and purple quilt. 

“I wanna stay home,” she mumbles against his neck, and Clint hugs her tight against his chest. 

“This time,” he agrees, and he means it as a warning, both to her and to himself, because he knows it won’t be like this every year. He knows Mother and Father Morse will be seriously displeased, will want to have her for Easter now, or double time next Christmas, no matter what their court agreement says. “This time.” 

Kate doesn’t understand. 

She shouldn’t have to – god she _is_ only six – but for now she seems to have all her little heart desires and maybe that’s enough. 

“Does this mean I get to play in the snow?” she asks sleepily, her tears already drying up, and beside him on the couch Phil chuckles. 

“Not tonight,” Clint says quietly, bumping Phil’s feet off the coffee table with a firm nudge of his shins. “It’s awful dark out there, and there’s not much snow yet.” 

“Ta’morrow?” 

“Yeah baby,” he murmurs, flicking Phil a glance and starting back up the hallway. “Tomorrow we can go play in the snow.” 

“Mr. Phil too?” she mumbles, and Clint very nearly brains himself on her bedroom door he startles so badly. 

“Mr. Phil?” 

“My Christmas wish came true,” she explains, somehow managing an air of _duh_ that makes him feel like he _should_ know these things. “That means Mr. Phil has to come too.” 

“Tell you what, you can ask him in the morning ok?” Clint manages as he lays her back down, tucks her into the bed and gets the blankets all straightened out around her. “And if he has to go to work maybe we can call Mrs. Chavez and see if America can come.” 

Kate doesn’t answer, already nearly asleep again, so Clint just leans in close and presses a kiss to her forehead, finds her ratty, stuffed tiger and tucks it under her arm. 

“Night Katie-Cat,” he murmurs, smiling when she squeezes his fingers. “Love you.” 

“Love you too Daddy.” 

He makes it all the way out of the room and halfway down the hall before he starts to shake. Crashing back onto the couch at Phil’s side without a thought, he drops his head into his hands and lets the shivers come, lets himself topple off the edge of adrenaline he’d been riding. 

Stupid, stupid to be so scared, but Katie’s so important to him, and fatherhood is such a huge, unknown thing… 

He feels like he’s been flying by the seat of his pants from day one, and it never seems to get any easier. 

By the time he gets his breathing under control and feels like he can think straight again, he comes up to Phil’s arm around his shoulders and the sound of his smooth, collected voice in his ear. 

“You’re ok.” 

“Yeah,” he chokes, “Yeah. I’m ok.” 

“See?” Phil says gently, letting him go (much to Clint’s dismay). “What did I tell you?” 

“You didn’t tell me anything, _Santa,”_ he grumbles shakily, recalling Kate’s words in the bedroom. “She said her Christmas wish came true.” 

Clint thinks he sees Phil flush in the blue glow of the television, his gaze flicking toward the darkened hallway, and his eyes narrow. 

“Phil…” 

“She just wanted to stay home for Christmas, Clint,” he murmurs quietly, his shoulders high and tight as he makes to push up off the couch, to _leave._ “That’s all. Now you can give that to her – you don’t need Santa…” 

“No,” Clint growls, shaking his head, because that can’t be all, because if that’s all his little girl, his _six-year-old,_ asked of Santa Claus for Christmas he might cry. Besides, that’s not what he wants, for Phil to leave like this when he thought that maybe they’d almost had a moment earlier, maybe they’d almost… 

“That’s not all she wanted,” he insists, thinking of Kate’s request that Phil join them tomorrow in the snow. “That’s not all she asked for.” 

“Confidentiality Clause, Barton,” Phil reminds him, and wait, what? “Santa doesn’t spill secrets. _Kate_ told you about that wish, she’ll have to tell you about the other.” 

“So you _do_ know what she wants,” he accuses lightly, poking Phil in the thigh with his toes, hoping that he’ll sink back into the couch cushions, that this tension will melt and he’ll stay. 

“Oh, come on Barton,” Phil scoffs, pulling his feet back up onto the couch beneath him, his shoulders dropping. “You’ve gotta have _some_ idea…" 

“Really, really don’t,” Clint huffs, then his heart thumps and kicks into overdrive as he looks around at his sparsely decorated living room. “Oh crap, Phil, what am I gonna _do?”_

“What do you mean?” he asks, eyebrow quirked in clear confusion. 

“Phil, I haven’t celebrated Christmas any earlier than the twenty-eighth in the last five years!” he yelps, waving his arms around at the distinct lack of Christmas tchotchke. “We always wait till Kate comes home to do all that stuff. I don’t have presents or a tree or a turkey or anything yet and if we get snowed in tomorrow how am I gonna…” 

“Ok, I can see where that… might be a problem,” Phil says slowly. “Do you really wait…?” 

Clint narrows his eyes, stabs a finger in Phil’s direction. 

“You’re one of _those_ people aren’t you?” he demands, still shaken and not actually offended by Phil’s incredulity – he knows his little family is weird. “One of those people who finish shopping in August and have the decorations up the day after Thanksgiving…” 

Phil stares at him a second, then barks a laugh, and ok, yeah, that feels better. Phil laughs, and all the tension goes draining out of Clint’s shoulders, all the dread from his stomach, and that’s probably stupid too but he feels like when Phil laughs, everything is going to be ok. 

“No,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “That would be my sister. They’re um… they’re actually going out of the country for the holidays this year.” 

It’s Clint’s turn to raise an eyebrow – he hates to think of Phil being all alone for Christmas, especially when he has family. He knows what that’s like, and while he doubts Phil struggles with the same kind of miserable, moping depression Clint flirts with on an annual basis, it still sucks. 

“You know you’ve got a few days,” Phil consoles, and yeah, he guesses he does. “And I… well I’ve got a tree. Haven’t decorated yet, and I don’t have a turkey, but, if you want…” 

“You want to do Christmas for us?” he asks, slightly stunned and more than a little terrified that he’s going to jump all over this like white on rice. “Phil you don’t… you don’t have to do that.” 

“Actually I was thinking I could do Christmas _with_ you,” he says, and he’s looking down at his lap like he can’t meet Clint’s eyes, and god Clint wants to kiss him right now more than he’s ever wanted to kiss him before, and that was quite a lot. “If you wanted. I mean, I was going to ask anyway, if maybe you wanted to have dinner or something while Kate was gone…” 

Clint… 

Clint can’t feel his toes. 

Cause that… that sounded an awful lot like a date, an invitation to dinner, but maybe that’s just what he wants to hear? 

How does he not screw that up? 

“I… yeah,” he hears himself say, before he can do something monumentally stupid like grab Phil by his shirt and crush their mouths together. “Yeah, that’d… I’d love to do Christmas with you Phil. I mean, _Kate_ would love... Kate too, you know? She said she wanted to ask you to come play in the snow tomorrow.” 

“She did?” 

“Yeah,” Clint confirms, his stomach all full of that swooping, roller-coaster feeling, because Phil is bright-eyed and grinning like an invitation from Clint’s daughter is honestly the best one he’s ever gotten in his life. “So whadda’ ya say? Want to do Regular Christmas with the Bartons? Gotta tell ya - it might be a total disaster.” 

“No it won’t,” Phil smiles, and hell, when he says it like that Clint believes him. “We’ll play in the snow and decorate a tree, and we’ll find some time for you to slip away and pick up some presents. It’ll be perfect.” 

“Yeah,” Clint agrees with a smile, the relief and the happiness blasting through him like fire. “Yeah, I think maybe it might."


	5. Chapter 5

"Daddy, Daddy, wake up!" 

Clint groans, rolls over, and buries his head under his pillow. 

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, hiding away from the sunlight streaming through the windows and his little girl's cheerful bouncing 

"But _Daddyyyy..."_

"No, no, it's too early!" he cries out dramatically, turning onto his side to swoop his daughter up and drag her down onto his chest, to wrap her up in the blankets and start tickling her. "What could possibly get you up this early?" 

"Daddy, the snow!" Kate squeals, giggling and wriggling to escape his fingers running over her ribs. 

"Ohhhh," Clint nods knowingly, letting her go so she can scramble up out of his bed and scurry over to the windows. Rolling upright onto the chilly floor, he stretches long and hard and crosses over to her side, stroking a hand through her hair. "Well, what do you think kiddo?" 

Kate squirms under his hand, dances on her feet with her palms pressed against the glass. 

"Look at how much!" she breathes. 

_'Yeah,'_ he thinks, _'Look at how much.'_

No wonder Bobbi couldn't make it – there must be two and half feet out there, and there's more coming down. 

"Might be higher than you Katie-Cat," he says thoughtfully, leaning against the sill. "You sure you wanna go out there?" 

"Yes!" she cheers, two fists in the air. 

Clint chuckles. 

"Alright, alright," he concedes. "But breakfast first." 

"Pancakes!" she demands as they head toward the hallway, and then, suddenly, as if remembering, "And Mr. Phil!" 

"It's early Katie," Clint says uneasily, stomach abruptly full of swooping uncertainty after... well, everything last night. "I don't know if..." 

"You said I could ask," she reminds him, and he can see the defiance slowly creeping into her stance, can see her lower lip threatening to pout. 

Well. 

Phil can always say no, right? 

"Alright," he sighs, unbearably pleased with the way Kate smiles and claps her hands. "But you need to get dressed and cleaned up first, ok?" 

"Kay!" 

Sending her off toward her bedroom, he closes his own door and gets changed into a pair of old jeans and a thermal henley, two pairs of super thick socks. If there's one thing being a parent teaches you, it's how to dress practically. He only wishes he had some, like, waterproof long underwear to layer on – he has no doubt Kate will be perfectly happy to play in the snow for the rest of the day. 

She meets him in the hall on his way to the kitchen. She's slightly less prepared than he is, in her pink leggings and purple socks. She's chosen a sweatshirt at the very least, and has brushed her hair back neatly awaiting its pigtails. She offers him her arms and he scoops her up for the trip into the kitchen, depositing her on a barstool to do up her braids with deft, practiced hands. 

"Knock politely," he reminds her, planting a kiss on her forehead and helping her down. "And leave the door open." 

"I will," she hollers, already dashing for the front door. 

Clint rolls his eyes and steps into the kitchen, gets the coffee started from the counter where he has a clear view into the hallway. Phil's door is directly across from his and he watches with a small grin as Kate reaches up high as she can to knock, then sinks back down on her heels with her hands folded to wait. Not a minute later the latch turns and Clint has to busy himself with fetching pancake ingredients so as not to stare for a glimpse of Phil Coulson in his pajamas, though he doubts the guy would answer the door in anything so casual. 

"Well good morning, Miss Barton!" 

"Good morning Mr. Phil!" Kate replies, and this time Clint has to bite his lip to stop the _aww_ from escaping. "Do you wanna have breakfast with us and play in the snow please?" 

"Breakfast, hmm?" Phil queries, and a glance out the door shows he's crouched down on Kate's level, his face open and friendly. "What kind of breakfast?" 

"Pancakes!" his daughter declares, and then, to his amusement, "And coffee too!" 

"Well who could turn down pancakes and coffee?" Phil chuckles, pushing back to his feet. "Let me grab my things and I'll be right over." 

"Yay!" 

Kate comes thundering back in and Clint looks up just in time to catch a glimpse of Phil's gentle smile and the flash of his ass in – yes – thin, blue lounge pants before the door closes, leaving him standing at the counter with a bag of flour in his hands and his mouth hanging open. 

"Daddy, you're spilling!" 

Startling, Clint finds that he has indeed been sprinkling flour across the countertop, but he manages to make a joke of it and get things cleared up by the time Phil makes it over. Thank god for his daughter then, or else what followed would have been the most tense and charged breakfast he'd ever been forced to sit through, and that was saying something. Phil arrives, Clint hands over a mug of black coffee and receives a warm, unreadable look in return, a lingering brush of fingers, and from there the tone of the day is set. 

Blueberry pancakes and bacon. 

Battle plans for an epic snowball fight. 

Blushing glances and slow smiles as they all get bundled up and head out the door. 

Clint's sort of having a miniature freak-out. 

Thankfully it's not as cold as it looks outside, despite the nearly three feet of snow that had gotten dumped on them overnight. An extra layer of sweats and socks, hats and scarves and mittens should serve them just fine until they get wet through. As they walk to the nearby children's park, Clint holds Kate's hand on one side while Phil holds the other, and when they come to a drift that's higher than she is they pick her up over it like they've been doing it for years. Snowplows rumble by and shovelers sing and cheer and wave to each other, and everywhere they look people are out and about enjoying the first clean, white snow of the year. 

By the time they arrive at the park it's already teeming with young children and their parents, and it doesn't take long for his little Katie-Cat to go charging into the fray, to marshal her troops and wage the war she'd been so keen on that morning. She commandeers Phil to be her snowball builder and Clint to be her long-range secret weapon, and half an hour later her team is declared the victors. General Kate then turns her sights on greater victories, taking advantage of her father and neighbor's muscles and height to construct a six-foot-high snowman, and then a pretty impressive igloo. 

Clint ends up crouched inside the half-formed structure shoulder-to-shoulder with Phil, both of them pink-cheeked and laughing, their breath frosting in the air, and when he looks over something inside his chest whispers _now, now!_ but then a shriek splits the air above his head, setting his hearing aids to buzzing and his Daddy-Senses blaring, and he stands up out of the igloo without a thought for the little snow castle they'd spent so long working on. 

"America, America!" 

Katie squeals and goes dashing off through the snow, and sure enough, America Chavez, one of her moms, and her adopted older brothers Billy and Tommy are trudging across the park toward them. As Clint's heart settles back into his chest where it belongs, he turns and helps Phil to his feet with an easy tug of his hand, and then, with a light-hearted chuckle, starts dusting chunks of snow out of his scarf and collar from where Clint had collapsed the igloo on him. 

A minute later Billy and Tommy come stomping up in their winter boots and ski pants, panting as they haul America along on a plastic toboggan, an extra saucer slung over Elena Chavez's shoulder. 

"Hey Mr. Barton," Billy huffs with a grin. "Were going to the hill over by the firehouse. Can Kate come with us?" 

"Please, please!" Kate and America chorus in unison, and Elena laughs. 

"They didn't expect to see you," she explains, Kate already climbing into the sled so that America's brothers can help arrange the jumble of little boots and legs properly. "We thought Kate would have flown out this morning." 

"Change of plans," Clint admits with a smile. "Snow hit Maine pretty hard – Bobbi couldn't make it." 

"It's my Christmas wish!" Kate cheers, and Clint can't help the sunburst of happiness in his chest, even if he does feel bad for Bobbi. 

Tommy and Billy ruffle the pompom on Kate's hat; the two thirteen-year-olds are incredibly devoted to their baby sister, and that fondness had bled over to Kate within weeks of their first meeting. Accustomed to foster homes and adopting, they'd quickly declared Kate family and Clint's more than happy that she's got two surrogate brothers looking out for her. Grabbing hold of the sled rope, they work together to start dragging Kate and America across the snow in the direction of the firehouse, where there's a good-sized hill perfect for sledding. 

As if by silent agreement, the adults start trudging after him, and it's not till Phil's glove brushes his that Clint realizes the significance of his coming along, that he's smiling and following like it's the most natural thing in the world, like he _belongs_ at Clint and Kate's side, and it causes the sun in his chest to flood through his veins, happiness shooting all the way out into his fingers and toes. 

"This is my neighbor Phil," he tells Elena belatedly, but from the sly smile at the corner of her mouth she already knows. He'd blabbed enough in the early days, when Phil had first moved in, about the hot older guy taking the apartment across from them. "Phil, this is Elena Chavez." 

"Nice to meet you," Elena smiles, leaning around Clint to shake Phil's hand as they walk. "Decided to join the fun?" 

"Kate invited me," Phil nods, and there's that happy little tingle again. 

God this man's going to be the death him. 

The happy, happy death. 

They quickly make it to the hill and the kids all take turns on the sleds. For the most part he, Phil, and Elena are relegated to haulers, tugging them back up the hill once they've made it to the bottom. Thankfully it's not too steep, but it's still quite a workout, and by the time an hour or so has passed, Clint is ready for a break. One little six-year-old wears him out – he's always been impressed as hell with Elena and her wife Amalia for taking care of all three of their kids while still being perfect PTO moms. Huffing, he offers to buy everyone a hot chocolate from a nearby street cart as an excuse to take a breather, and it's easy enough to round up all their little charges with the promise of sweet, warm drinks. 

"Mama, can Kate spend the night?" America asks as Clint and Phil dole out little Styrofoam cups from the drink trays they'd picked up. 

Clint looks up with a frown – Kate has a habit of inviting herself over, and he doesn't want her intruding on the Chavez family so close to the holiday – but Elena stops him. 

"I don't know what your plans are," she says, accepting her own cup of hot chocolate, "But Amalia and I will both be home, and you know Kate's always welcome." 

"I wouldn't want to put you out," he says. "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve..." 

"You know my wife, Clint," Elena laughs. "She was ready for Christmas in _August._ The boys always invite Teddy Altman over a few days before Christmas for a sleepover - gives his parents a chance to do any last minute prep. Seriously, if you need a few hours, bring her over. America would love to have her." 

Clint's mind does a few quick calculations - Elena has hit the nail on the head as always. She knows all about the Barton's 'Special Christmas' and Clint's propensity toward procrastination. He could use a few hours to do some emergency shopping and if she really is offering... 

"If you're sure..." he hedges, but Kate and America, who have been listening surreptitiously, squeal with excitement. 

"Don't worry Clint," Elena laughs, shoving at his arm. "It'll just be pizza and movies, maybe some board games. Go, get your shopping done. Take your cute neighbor with you." 

Clint stammers, gapes like a fish, but Elena is laughing at him and Phil's got a smile on his face that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and he can't think of what to say so he doesn't say anything, just shuts his mouth and collects up his daughter and starts the walk home with a promise to America to drop her off promptly after packing. 

Phil follows him home and they part in the hallway with a quiet goodbye, Kate thanking him with smiles and hugs for coming out to play in the snow. Phil sounds genuinely happy to have gone, and tells Clint to knock when he's ready to hit the stores. 

He's... kind of surprised by that. 

Even with the way the day has gone, he somehow hadn't really expected Phil to want to tag along. 

Things are clipping along so nicely after two years of pining, it kind of makes him wonder what he'd been waiting for. 

Getting Kate changed into dry clothes and packing her an overnight bag is quick and easy given her excitement, and Clint takes the extra time to whip up a couple of sandwiches that they share at the kitchen island before bundling up to head back outside again. The Chavez's live on the second level of a tiny duplex only a couple of blocks away, and Kate is greeted with rapturous joy at the door by both America and her brothers. He manages to get a hug and a kiss in before she's thundering off into the house, and Elena and Amalia usher him back out the door with enough teasing about his _cute neighbor_ to make his cheeks burn.


	6. Chapter 6

Phil's waiting when Clint knocks on his door. It's a little pathetic really, but he'd had a lot of fun with him and Kate out in the snow that morning, and he's more than a little grateful to Elena Chavez for inviting him along on the rest of Clint's afternoon, not to mention taking Kate off his hands for a bit. 

He doesn't mean that the way it sounds. 

He adores the little girl and doesn't mind having her around in the least, but he knows Clint had been anxious about not having an hour or two to get away and buy her Christmas presents. 

That's really to say nothing about the fact that Clint's now a got a whole night at home alone, without little ears around. 

Doesn't mean anything. 

It's not like he has _thoughts_ about what to do with that time... 

"Ready to go?" he asks, shrugging into his coat as he steps out into the hallway, and Clint offers him that little, half-nervous laugh Phil likes so much. 

"Yeah," he manages, sounding a little choked. "Yeah, I guess I am." 

They take the subway back to the same mall where Phil had played Santa, and he tells Clint all about the scheme and several of Jasper's others as they head inside. He lists off a hundred different presents all the kids had asked him for, all of them except Kate, and Clint scowls and sneers at him playfully, because he clearly knows what Phil's doing, the dork. 

Giving him a hundred different ideas, but not the one he needs, keeping his _Confidentiality Clause_ and refusing to give up his daughter's secrets. 

"Come on, what did you get her last year?" he asks, bumping Clint's shoulder they walk, trailing slowly through a toy store. 

"Not this stuff," he mutters, gesturing at the sea of pink plastic around them. "I'd rather get her... I don't know. Something that matters. I got her Daddy-daughter music lessons – violin and piano..." 

"Experiences," Phil nods. "That's perfect. Beth does the same thing – that's why they're all headed to England this year." 

"Maybe not anything _that_ big," Clint chuckles. 

"Maybe not." 

"I did..." he begins nervously, and Phil raises an eyebrow. "I did have one idea." 

"Tell me." 

Clint bites his lip. 

"I thought maybe a dog..." 

Phil stops, turns and looks at him in surprise. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's mentioned it a couple times – not _begging_ yet, but..." 

Phil tips his head back and forth, considers. Kate will be back to school in a couple of weeks, but with Clint's paycheck from the military he only works part time, mostly to keep himself busy. As a landscaper and contractor, he works a job that a dog could easily accompany him on. 

It might be good for him, even beyond thrilling little Kate. 

"I like it," he smiles. "It's a good idea Clint. I mean, as long as you know it'll really end up being _your_ dog..." 

"Yeah, I know," Clint laughs. "But I think it'd be cool. I wouldn't get a _puppy_ or anything, but I thought maybe I could take her to the shelter and we could pick one out." 

"She would love that." 

"Yeah. You know I've never actually had a dog before but it can't be that hard right? I mean, I took care of the tiger at Carson's for a long time, and the dancing ponies..." 

Phil smiles and listens quietly as Clint tells the circus stories he's told him a hundred times before, stories that always change just a little bit and that he never gets tired of being told. He knows a bit about Clint's history before the Marine Corp, about his childhood spent in foster homes and as the Amazing Hawkeye, the World's Greatest Marksman, headlining for Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders. He knows not all of that history is happy, but when Clint tells it like this, when he loses himself to the stories about the Trapeze Twins and the Tarot Lady and the Strong Man, it's clear that he does have some happy memories. 

They really are incredible tales. 

"Sorry," he says some time later as they turn an aisle and wander toward a large, cage-like structure filled with blow-up balls. "I'm... rambling." 

"I don't mind," Phil confesses, surreptitiously taking a step closer so that they brush and bump as they walk. "But I do have an idea." 

Because Clint is such a trusting soul, he follows Phil complacently across the mall without asking for an explanation, to the small pet store on the other side. When they come into sight of the store front he breaks into a smile, laughs and throws his arms around Phil in a short, hard hug, then goes darting into the store like a kid. Phil himself is stuck standing there like an idiot, all warmth and happiness in the pit of his belly, before he manages to get himself together and follow him in. 

They pick out a couple of dog toys; tennis balls and a tug rope and plastic pizza slice that squeaks. It's a little hokey but Phil thinks Kate will enjoy the joke, at least until she figures out what it really means. Then he suspects there will be screeches of delight, possibly even some tears, and he's ridiculously happy that he'll be there to witness it. He offers a gentle veto on food and collars when asked, suggesting that Clint wait until the actual animal has been selected before purchasing those items. Instead he finds a rack of cotton bandanas, and is amused when Clint immediately goes for the deep purple. They grab a box of Milk Bones that will rattle nicely beneath their Christmas wrap, run through the check out, and then make a quick stop back in the toy store for a couple more items – most importantly a small, stuffed dog shaped like a golden lab. 

"She's going to love this," Phil says with a smile as he takes half of the shopping bags to carry. "Father of the Year." 

"Thanks," Clint mumbles, and when Phil looks over he's got his head ducked and his cheeks are pink and he's chewing on his lip shyly. "Really. It's... hard sometimes, being a single dad. Well, a lot of the time. And it's harder 'cause I know how hard it is on Bobbi... I feel like a hot mess half the time." 

"Only half?" Phil asks, because it keeps him from saying something stupid about how Clint is _always_ hot, if not a hot mess, and because it makes him smile. "Come on. I have to stop for a couple last-minute groceries if I'm going to pull off mini-Christmas dinner. Let's see what we can scavenge off the shelves." 

"You don't have to," Clint insists, but Phil just shrugs, looks at him with a grin. 

"Don't think you're getting out of helping, Barton," he scolds playfully. "Just be grateful I'm not making you prep a full-on twenty pound turkey." 

In the end it's a good thing he's only feeding the three of them. The grocery store is nearly entirely picked over, looking like something out of a post-apocalyptic zombie flick. The shelves are a disaster, employees running around frantically, and he and Clint can't help but laugh as they thread their way through the store, people-watching as much as anything. Because he knows what he has at home - and because he has a pathetic mental catalogue of lists detailing the kinds of things that little Kate won't eat after having babysat her multiple times – he only needs to pick up a handful of items, all of which are thankfully still available. 

There might not be a fresh turkey to be found in the entire state of New York two days from Christmas, but a fresh roasting chicken is easier to come by. 

They trudge back toward the subway laden down with bags, making one last stop at a corner party store for wrapping paper and bows before heading back to their building. By now it's late afternoon turning evening, and the sun has already started to dip below the skyline, the air going too-cold and blustery. Street lamps start to click on and Phil can hear people singing carols somewhere in the distance, and Clint is smiling contentedly as he lets them both into his apartment. 

"I'm going to step next door and grab a couple of things," he says as he wrangles the chicken into Clint's refrigerator. "Then maybe we can bring the tree over? Or do you want to do it at my place?" 

"Here's fine," Clint says distractedly as he unloads his bags onto the kitchen island. "I feel like the least I can do is host, since you'll be cooking. Save you the dishes." 

"I'm happy to do it," Phil says quietly, and there's a moment of still silence between them as Clint smiles gently, head tipped to the side, a lock of hair falling into his eyes as he looks Phil over. 

Clearing his throat, he pulls his keys out of his pocket, jerks his chin toward the door. 

"Be right back." 

Making his escape before he says something he shouldn't, Phil darts across the hall into his own apartment. Hanging up his coat and scarf, he grabs a laundry basket from the linen closet and moves into the kitchen. As he loads it up with this and that – things he knows that Clint won't have – he wonders what he's doing, how he thinks this is going to end. He could bring all this over tomorrow, he could offer to have the Bartons over to his for Christmas, he could... 

He doesn't know. 

He wants to uphold his promise to Kate, fulfill her Christmas wishes and keep her father company over Christmas, and it's cheered his spirits considerably that Clint seems happy enough with that plan, but... 

But he wants to kiss him. 

Wants to tell him how he feels. 

He probably could, probably _should,_ but in the event that Clint isn't interested, isn't comfortable with the idea, he doesn't want it to spoil anyone's Christmas. 

It will have to wait. 

He's more than accustomed to enjoying what he has in the moment, and that's exactly what he's going to do. 

Laying a towel on top of the groceries, Phil grabs a handful of the most important Christmas decorations he has - a garland, a few tree baubles - and hesitates. 

He'd purchased a Christmas gift for both Clint and Kate, long before he'd known that he would be sharing the holiday with the two of them. He considers taking them over now, but worries how they'll be received, so he decides to play it safe and save them for Christmas Eve. Tucking them away where they won't be seen, he lugs his basket back across the hall, leaving both doors open on the way. 

"Misplace your red bag, Saint Nick?" Clint asks cheekily as he thumps the basket down on the kitchen counter. 

"I use the basket for coal," Phil sniffs, pleased when Clint chuckles. "Less messy." 

"Mmhmm. Come on, let's go get this tree of yours." 

It takes longer than it probably should for them to maneuver the thing through their two doorways and into the corner of Clint's living room, given that they're two intelligent, grown men. Luckily it's artificial, so the branches fold up and they don't lose twenty percent of the needles onto the carpet. Once it's successfully in the stand, Phil obliges his neighbor's whims, twisting it back and forth and moving it a scant few inches across the floor till he's gotten it just right. 

"Perfect," Clint breathes, a huge smile on his face. 

"Yeah," Phil murmurs, and maybe he's looking at Clint instead of the tree, but there's no one there to call him on it, so... 

"Think we could do the lights?" he asks, pacing a slow half-circle around it. "Be cool to have them on when Katie comes home." 

"Definitely," Phil agrees. 

It takes them about twenty minutes to sort the three strings of lights that Phil has bundled up in a plastic tote. He'd coiled them neatly the year before, but, as always, they'd somehow managed to tangle themselves to high heaven. Together he and Clint manage to get them undone but it's an exercise in self-control more than anything; Clint ducks and weaves through the wires, weaving himself around Phil's body, between and beneath his arms, brushing against his chest... 

It isn't fair. 

But they eventually get the things sorted and wrapped around the tree, branches fluffed, colored bulbs laid down in a neat, tight spiral from top to bottom. Clint drags out a pair of popcorn tins full of ornaments and tucks them to the side to await Katie's return, opening them first so that Phil's can be placed safely on the top. 

"We only do a little tree," he explains as he reseals the cans. "Maybe half this tall? I usually wait till Katie gets back to put it up, and we decorate it together. It works for now, cause it's still bigger than she is, but I might need to upgrade in a few years." 

"You can always share mine," Phil says casually, leaning down to plug the lights into a convenient outlet. "When we were kids my dad used to take me and Beth out to cut down a real tree." 

"Sounds nice." 

"It was, for us. Beth and her husband still do it with Ellie and Eli, but she says as an adult it's a real pain. The cat's always climbing it and the sugar water gets sticky and smelly, and then when they have to get rid of it, it sheds its needles all over the carpet." 

"Think I'll stick with artificial," Clint hums. "Dunno where'd I'd even get rid of a tree in Bed Stuy. Can always buy some pine scented air freshener to get that just-cut realism." 

"Sounds about right," Phil laughs. His stomach promptly rumbles, and he and Clint both glance at the clock – it's getting late. 

"I um... I'm just gonna wrap Kate's presents," Clint says hesitantly, cheeks pinking. "You wanna maybe watch a movie? I can order Chinese..." 

"I'd like that," Phil agrees, warmth in his chest. "I've got _Die Hard_ – quintessential Christmas movie." 

"Cool!" Clint declares, suddenly grinning from ear to ear. 

"Right," Phil mumbles, blushing right back and jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "So, I'll just go grab the movie, get changed..." 

"It's a date," Clint says quietly, mouth turned up at the corners, and Phil nearly swallows his tongue before once again escaping to his own apartment. 

_'Silly,'_ he thinks as he shucks his jeans in favor of his best sweats, RANGER stamped down the left leg. 

They're grown men, both single, both clearly attracted to the other... silly that they dance around it, silly that it's been two years, silly that... 

But it matters. 

_Clint_ matters. 

He's... important to Phil and so is Kate, and as he slips into a clean t-shirt he muses that that might be another reason why he's never made a move. He wants so much more with Clint than a few stolen kisses, so much more than a one-night-stand, more even than a semi-serious relationship that lasts a couple of months before fizzing out. 

He wants... forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick PSA - PLEASE don't buy anyone a puppy for Christmas unless you've given it serious thought and planning!! *If* you decide it's the right time for a pet, visit your local shelter - there are tons of *amazing* puppers there looking for a happy home!


	7. Chapter 7

Date. 

Clint doesn't know what he'd been thinking, but it was... it was perfect, date or not. 

Phil had come over looking like the world's sexiest mashup of strong and sexy and soft and cuddly, in Ranger sweats and a thin cotton t-shirt that showed off his chest and shoulders. He'd swapped his contacts out for the thick-framed glasses he wore in the evenings, the ones that had given Clint fantasies for days the first time he'd seen them, and brought a worn copy of _Die Hard_ with him. Clint had changed into his own pj's in the meantime, purple lounge pants and a white tank top with a target blasted across the chest, and he'd wanted nothing more than to curl up and snuggle with him until he fell asleep. 

He'd managed to control himself, even though he'd felt closer to the man in those few, quiet hours than he ever had before. The Chinese food had been delivered within thirty minutes and they ate on the couch with the movie playing in the background, stuffing their faces with sweet-and-sour pork, eggrolls, and pineapple fried rice. When they'd finished, they'd pushed the coffee table forward and sat down side-by-side at the foot of the couch to wrap Kate's presents, close enough that Clint could feel Phil's body heat burning along his thigh. 

It was torture. 

Beautiful, glorious torture. 

Phil had given him enough direction with the wrapping paper that he'd ended up with matching stuff this year, and more than enough to do the job. It had been nice to sit beside him, both of them working together to get all the gifts finished; a finger-paint set, a soccer ball, and a small toy locket filled with Smucker's cherry-flavored lip balm. The rest of them are dog toys, wrapped just the same in cheery holiday paper, and Phil prints off a gift certificate for one trip to the local shelter for him that they tie to the stuffed puppy's neck with ribbon. 

As the movie came to an end Clint had pushed himself up off the floor, unwilling to let the evening end but unsure how to draw it out. Of course he would have loved to take Phil to bed, or even just dragged him down onto the couch to make out, but he wants so much more than that, so many more nights... 

He'd emerged from his bedroom after stashing Kate's presents in the closet to find Phil in his kitchen, sticking the leftovers in the fridge and binning the trash. They'd blushed and mumbled their way around each other and Clint had thanked him, like, six times for all his help, for sharing the tree and for shopping with him and everything because he's a massive dork with no cool. He'd walked him to the door and Phil had turned and looked at him and for all of three heart-stopping seconds he'd thought he was going to get kissed, but Phil had just thanked him right back for the evening and said goodnight. 

Clint goes to bed warm down to his toes, kissless but happier than he's been in a long time. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and he'll have his daughter with him, and they just spent half the day playing in the snow with Phil Coulson like one big, happy family. 

Life. Is. Awesome. 

Doesn't mean he's stupid, or complacent. 

No, the very first thing he does on waking up the next morning is dig up a little sprig of plastic mistletoe and tack it over the living room doorway. 

He's not letting another chance sneak by him, not if he can help it. 

He dresses far too nicely just to be heading across town to pick up his daughter – nice enough that Elena and Amalia will give him guff – but Phil had promised to share Christmas with them and he plans to take advantage of as much of his time as he can. Kate shrieks when she sees him in the doorway, launching herself at him with abandon, and Clint's heart squeezes in his chest so hard he has to scrub awkwardly at his eyes while America drags Katie's bag down the hallway towards him. After much _goodbye-ing_ and Merry Christmases, they start back home, purple backpack slung over Clint's shoulder and Kate's hand in his. 

"Did you have fun?" he asks as they walk, the sidewalks thankfully cleared after yesterday's snow. 

"Yup," Kate grins, hopping over the creases in the concrete. "We had pizza an' watched Rudolph and singed Christmas songs." 

"That does sound like fun," he agrees. 

"Did you an' Mr. Phil have fun?" 

Clint blinks, surprised by her question, but he supposes it's fair. 

"Yeah, we had fun. We had dinner and watched a Christmas movie too. _And_ we've got a surprise for you when we get home," he adds with a wink. 

"A surprise?" Kate squeaks, and then she's tugging on his hand, hurrying him down the street toward their building. "Come on, come on!" 

Clint laughs and lets himself be pulled along, scooping Kate up to carry her since she hasn't quite got the stamina yet to make it up three flights of stairs. He sets her down once they reach their floor, and Kate immediately darts up the hallway and starts knocking on Phil's door before he can stop her, but given that it's edging on eleven he figures it's not too early. 

"Well good morning Miss Barton," Phil greets her when he opens the door, going down into a crouch the way he always does to put himself on her level. "How was your sleepover?" 

"It was fun!" Kate grins, "But Daddy says there's a surprise!" 

"There's definitely a surprise," Phil agrees, pushing back up to his feet. "Want to go see?" 

"Yes, yes, yes!" She cheers, and then she's pushing into their own apartment which Clint has gotten unlocked ahead of her. 

"You look nice," Phil murmurs behind him, and Clint's cheeks go hot. 

"Um, thanks," he mumbles shyly, running a hand down the front of his sweater, a soft grey V-neck that Natasha had gotten him last year. Worn over a white t-shirt and paired with his nicest jeans, it's about as cleaned up as he gets, but still miles above his usual sloppy dad-wear. "You look nice too." 

Phil laughs – he's wearing jeans and a faded UofM t-shirt, but it still looks good on him. 

"Someone taught me not to wear nice clothes if you're going to be cooking, or babysitting, for a six year old," he chuckles, and Clint grins cause he remembers the first time Phil had offered to watch Kate for twenty minutes while he ran down to the drugstore, only to show up in a three-piece suit, minus the jacket. 

"I like the jeans," he admits, and Phil looks surprised enough that Clint does something without thinking, leans in and presses a fleeting kiss to his cheek, just at the corner of his mouth. 

What? 

They are under the mistletoe. 

"There's a tree! Daddy, there's a real tree!"

Saved by the screech... 

Gulping, Clint takes a step back from the man who's staring at him with soft surprise on his face and turns to catch his little girl, who's taking a flying leap into his arms. 

"Daddy, did you see? There's a real Christmas tree, with lights and everything!" 

"Sure is Katie-Cat," he agrees, since he figures the finer points of _'real'_ aren't that important. "Mr. Phil decided to share it with us this year." 

Kate's eyes go wide and she begins to wriggle, so Clint puts her back down and watches as she goes barreling into Phil's legs, forcibly knocking him out of whatever circle his mind is spinning him in. 

"Thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Phil!" she squeals, throwing her arms around his neck when he leans down to hug her. "It's the best Christmas ever! " 

"Sure is," Phil murmurs against her hair, and then she's grabbing him by the hand and hauling them all into the living room to decorate the tree. 

It's the nicest couple of hours Clint has ever spent doing Christmas stuff. They put on some Christmas songs and open the cans of decorations, and Clint carefully threads the hooks so that Katie can put the ornaments up on the tree. Whenever she decides that one needs to go up high, she enlists Phil's help, and instead of doing it for her he lifts her up in his arms so she can place it exactly where she likes. 

"What's this one?" she asks, holding up something that, to her, is unfamiliar. 

"This one's mine," Phil explains, turning it right-side up in his hand for her to see. "I got it a long, long time ago when I was little. It's the shield that Captain America used to fight bad guys." 

"Captain America? Like my friend America?" Kate asks quizzically. 

"Not quite," Phil chuckles, reaching up to hang the red-white-and-blue shield on the tree. "Captain America was a superhero in a comic book." 

"Ohh, like Spiderman," she says knowingly, and Clint has to bite his lip at the look on Phil's face, shuttered indignation and fanboy disappointment. 

"A little, I guess," he admits grudgingly, taking another ornament from Clint, who is trying and failing not to smirk. 

"Dork," he teases, and Phil sticks his tongue out at him, which makes Katie giggle. 

"Which one's _your_ favorite?" he asks, and Katie looks to him expectantly, laughing when he huffs a sigh and digs down to the bottom of the tin, coming up with a small cardboard box. 

"Daddy gave this one to me," she says proudly, pulling the tiny, homemade ornament from the box. "It's _my_ favorite." 

"It was supposed to be a joke," Clint mutters, blushing hard as Kate hands over the tiny toy. 

The Bearded Lady had whittled him the little Hawkeye figurine for his fifteenth birthday, lacquered it and painted on a sparkly purple uniform. It doesn't really look like him but it's pretty good, a young man standing with arms wide, bow and arrow in hand, his signature pose after finishing his act. When he holds it he can still hear the roar of a good crowd, even after all these years, and he'd managed to hold on to the silly thing even through his stint in the military. 

"The Amazing Hawkeye," Phil hums, turning the figurine in his hand, and Kate nods eagerly. 

"That was Daddy's circus name! He shot a bow and arrow!" 

"I know," Phil agrees, handing the ornament back so that she can give it pride of place in the center of the branches. "The World's Greatest Marksman." 

"Yup! Daddy says when I turn eight I can learn how to shoot one too!" 

"That sounds like fun," Phil nods seriously. 

"Mr. Phil, you should come!" Kate decides. "Daddy can teach you too!" 

The image of Phil standing flush against him, Clint's arms wrapped around his body, pressed cheek-to-cheek as he shows him how to draw the bow flashes through Clint's brain and he coughs nervously, shakes his head. 

"Uh, Katie..." 

"I'd like that very much Kate," Phil interrupts, staring right at him with dark eyes. "If you and your dad would have me along I'd love to join you." 

Clint barely hears Katie cheering. 

He's too busy being stared at, too busy licking his lips now that his mouth has gone dry as a desert. 

Phil's mouth quirks and he breaks his intense stare, looking down to stroke his hand over Kate's head. 

"I have to go start dinner but why don't you and your dad finish up the tree," he suggests. "Then when you're all done we can turn on the lights." 

Clint watches him go. Kneeling on the floor next to the tree he's at a perfect height to stare at Phil's ass as he walks by, but his heart is thumping too hard for anything so crass. He startles a bit when Kate steps up beside him, leans against his chest, but he pulls her in close and kisses her on the cheek anyway. 

"Do you like the tree, baby?" he murmurs, and Kate nods, her head tipped back to see. 

"Can we still put the star on top?" 

"Of course. Here, I'll hold you up so you can reach." 

Retrieving the star from its box, he hands it to his daughter and scoops her up to sit on his shoulder, moves as close as he can to the tree so she can stretch out and sit it on the top. Holding on to her ankle with one hand, he uses the other to tamp the purple ornament down securely, then puts her back on the floor and steps back. 

"What do you think?" 

"Awesome," Kate declares, and Clint laughs because that's his word coming out of his little girl's mouth. 

"Exactly," he agrees, pushing to his feet. "Hey Phil!" he calls, "Come back; we're gonna do the lights!" 

Phil appears in the archway of the living room a minute later, wearing a long, dark blue apron that does weird but crazy good things for Clint and drying his hands on a kitchen towel. 

"All done?" he asks, and Kate nods, clapping her hands. 

Placing his hand on her back, Clint shoos her over to Phil's side so she'll be able to see, then draws the curtain over the window to dim the living room as best as he can. A flick of the switch on the first string of lights turns it on, and a hushed silence falls; reds, greens, blues, and yellows dancing over his little girl's awed face.


	8. Chapter 8

It's nice having a kid around for Christmas. 

More so than just getting to share the holiday with Kate Barton and her father, sharing it with a six year old, a small child, really reminds him what the holiday is about. 

Family, friends, being together with the people you care about, the simple joy and astonishment that come from the magic of the season... 

He's missed it, thought he would miss it all together this year. 

_'Lucky,'_ he thinks, as he tucks the prepared chicken into the oven, sets it to roasting. 

Even if Beth and her husband had stayed in the country this year, Ellie and Eli are entering their cool and distant teenage years, and Christmas has been at a bit of a stand-still for the Coulson-Thompson clan.

Seeing it through little Kate's eyes, through _Clint's_ eyes, it's like being a kid again himself.

The way she'd lit up when Clint had clicked on the Christmas tree lights, the way he'd looked at his daughter... 

Yeah, Phil's in love.

Watching from the kitchen, he sees Clint get Kate set up on the couch with a coloring book, crayons, and a queue of Christmas movies before coming to join him in the kitchen. The man pushes up his sleeves, preparing to help with the cooking, and Phil stops him with a laugh, taking off his apron and slipping it over the other man's head before stepping behind him to tie the straps.

"Wouldn't want to spill on your one good sweater," he teases, but this time Clint is ready for him. 

"Could always take it off," he says casually, his eyes on his hands as he picks up a potato and a peeler.

Phil's mouth goes dry.

"Not in the kitchen," he finally manages, and absolutely _does not_ think about him taking it off in other rooms, the bedroom specifically.

"Maybe later then," Clint murmurs, looking up at him over the counter, and Phil meets his gaze dead on.

"Maybe later."

What follows is a strange but wonderful hour or so of silent flirting, of bodies brushing against each other and warm, dark looks being traded across the small kitchen. Clint finishes the potatoes and gets them on to boil, Phil preps cornbread stuffing and green bean casserole, and together they make up a batch of Mama Coulson's homemade cranberry sauce that, when nearly finished, he feeds Clint a small bite of off the end of a wooden spoon.

"Oh my god," he moans, licking his lips and making Phil's jeans go a little tight. "That is amazing."

"Glad you like it. Dinner should be done in about twenty more minutes; do you wanna..."

"Yeah," Clint agrees with a smile, even though Phil hadn't been sure what he was about to suggest. "Come on, we've still got _Year Without a Santa Claus_ on our watch list."

It probably says something that it's as easy as it is to turn everything down to a simmer and follow Clint into the living room. Katie's coloring a snowman pink and orange and green at the coffee table, the credits for Frozen rolling in the background, and she grins at them as they come in to sit down on the couch behind her. They end up so close that their thighs are pressed together, shoulders bumping, and Phil can feel Clint's body heat all down his side. He wants to lean in to him but he waits instead, wondering what the other man will do. 

What he does is turn on the second movie and slump down against the cushions, curled up against Phil's shoulder. He freezes, dead still, but then Kate hears the opening refrain of her favorite Christmas movie and climbs up onto the couch with them, wriggling herself down between them and leaning sideways too, curled low against his ribs. His heart damn near melts and Clint's staring at him very suddenly like he hung the moon himself, and Phil can't do anything but take Kate's hand in his and settle down to watch Jingle and Jangle face the Miser Brothers.

They're only a few minutes into it when Clint shifts uncomfortably, and then he's pulling his arm out from under Kate's body and hesitantly dropping it along the back of the couch, across Phil's shoulders.

He can't do much more about that than smile to himself and enjoy it.

They stay that way, cuddled up on the couch until the movie is over, warm and comfortable as the final Christmas carol begins to play. Kate wriggles and Clint sits up, pulls her into his lap and gives her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"Hungry baby?" he asks, and Kate nods, smiling widely. "Me too. How about you go get washed up for us and me and Phil will set the table?"

"Ok!"

She goes scampering off leaving the two of them alone, and Phil doesn't even have time to think before Clint is clasping his hand and pulling him up off the couch.

"Ready to eat?" he asks, dusting his hands down his thighs and looking at his feet, the tips of his ears pink.

"Absolutely," Phil agrees, and then they're heading into the kitchen to set the small dining table for the meal.

He's a little surprised when Clint pulls it all out, and he wonders how much is for him and how much is for Kate, for her first real Christmas at home with her dad. There's a nice, dark green tablecloth, and a pretty silver centerpiece filled with pinecones and evergreen sprigs and holly berries, a single, fat, white candle. He puts out three plates and three glasses that all match – a real feat in the Barton apartment – and lots of silver cutlery, and then helps Phil transfer all the hot dishes to the counter top. Phil takes the liberty of carving the chicken himself, and Clint spins the mashed potatoes smooth with a hand-mixer, and then all three of them are sitting down to a wonderful, fragrant meal full of quiet happiness.

It's hard to describe, in a way.

It's so... familiar, so _normal_ spending time with these two, just like he always does, that it feels a bit like family, feels a bit like home. It feels like nothing special, because it feels like this is the way it's _supposed to be,_ and at the same time it feels like the most wonderful afternoon, the most wonderful holiday he's ever had. 

When they've all eaten their fill - several helpings each, even for little Kate, who puts away more than she should be able to hold - they clear the table and put away the leftovers into Clint's mixed collection of tupperware. Clint puts on some Christmas carols and he and Kate spend some time quietly hanging tinsel and candy canes on the few bare Christmas tree branches left. Phil sits on the couch and watches, content just to be there and be a part, be witness to the way Clint moves above and around his daughter, like a magnet to metal.

When Clint's cell phone rings, he digs it out of his pocket, checks the screen, and hands it over to Kate with a grin that Phil has come to know as the one he wears when planning mischief.

"Aunt Nat!" Kate squeals as she answers the call, her little body practically vibrating with excitement. "Merry Christmas!"

Neither Phil nor Clint can hear the other side of the conversation, but it's clear that Natasha Romanov, Clint's terrifying Russian best friend, is appropriately surprised to be answered by her self-appointed god-daughter. Phil can't help but grin as little Kate chatters away, until she abruptly spills the beans about his presence and he feels his stomach drop into his shoes.

"An' Mr. Phil spent the whole Christmas with us!" Kate declares with a huge grin, bouncing on her feet. "He played in the snow with us an' he brought us a tree an' he made us dinner an' everything!"

Phil's heart thumps violently against his rib cage but Clint is just grinning at his daughter like nothing's wrong, like this is the greatest thing that's ever happened, but then Kate is telling Natasha she loves her and handing Phil the phone and Clint very abruptly goes very, very pale.

"Hello Natasha," Phil says coolly, all calm and collected even though the woman has the sharpest smile and the sharpest wit of anyone he's ever met. "How are you?" 

"What are you doing?" she asks, disregarding his question, though he is not particularly surprised. "Christmas, Coulson? _What_ are you _doing?"_

"Yes, we are having a nice time," he replies, as though he hasn't heard her, as though he doesn't know _exactly_ what she's getting at. Natasha has a habit of digging in on a point, like the tip of a knife between his ribs, trying to pry out his heart. "Since we were all here for the holiday we decided to celebrate it together." 

She's silent for a moment, the kind of silence that makes him anxious because it's very obvious that she's thinking, that she's _speculating._

"Have you told him yet?"

Phil grinds his teeth – he doesn't know how Natasha had found out his most closely held secret, but she'd done it early and she'd done it accurately. Ever since she's pressed him incessantly to spill his guts, to bare his soul to Clint for some reason known only to her, but the gleam in her eye when she pushes him makes him even more hesitant to do so.

"No, nothing new to report," he says, acutely aware of Clint watching him and listening in. "I'm doing just fine, thank you."

"Hmm," Natasha murmurs pointedly. "Still haven't told him. Interesting. Imagine – an Army Ranger running scared."

"Yes, and a Merry Christmas to you too," Phil humphs, rolling his eyes.

"Merry Christmas Coulson," she says, her tone softened. "Kate sounds quite happy – thank you, for giving my god-daughter a good Christmas."

"Of course," he replies, acknowledging her genuine love for Kate, her honest gratitude. "I am too." 

There's no more to be said between them – he doesn't know her all that well, but he knows how important Clint and Kate are to her, and knows what she's willing to do to keep them safe and happy. He respects that, and values it in his own way, even if her badgering him to make his confessions to Clint gets on his nerves. 

He doesn't get a chance to listen in on _Clint's_ share of Natasha's Christmas cheer once he's passed the cell phone over. _Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree_ comes on and Kate grabs him by the hand, pulls him up off the couch to dance. He takes both her hands in his and leads her in a jig that roughly approximates a Lindy Hop. He can hear Clint laughing, and a few minutes later, when the song clicks over to _Santa Baby_ he joins them, swooping Kate up onto his hip, grabbing Phil's hand, and leading them into a halfway decent swing waltz.

They're all cracking up laughing by the time the song is over, and Clint leans down to put Kate back on her feet and give her a cuddle before he straightens up again. 

"Come on baby, let's go give Mama a call, ok?" he suggests, shooing her in the direction of the lazyboy sitting kitty-corner to the couch.

"Kay," she agrees easily, climbing up into his lap when he flumps down into the chair and pulling his battered laptop out from where it's wedged between the footstool and the end table.

Phil hears the familiar jingle of Skype booting up and smiles at the pair, gesturing to Clint that he'll be in the kitchen. He's not sure what he would say to Clint's ex-wife if he had to but feels it would be awkward no matter what, so he ducks out of the living room to leave them to it.

He's already made things weird with Natasha – though in his defense that's mostly on her. He doesn't want to make them weird with Bobbi too.

He's never met the woman after all, and she may not even know _he_ exists.

It's easy enough to busy himself while he pointedly ignores the low conversation in the other room. He'd picked up a package of ready-to-bake sugar cookies at the grocery store and spends some time preheating the oven, laying them out on a baking sheet. He's not great at baking anything other than his mother's pineapple-coconut scones, so these will have to do, and at least they're a step up from packaged Oreos.

Gotta leave Santa _something._

By the time he's ready to pull the first batch out to cool Kate comes thundering in, wraps her fingers around the edge of the counter and stands on her tiptoes to see.

"Cookies?" she asked excitedly, eyes bright.

"Yup," he says, grinning at her. "Think Santa will like them?"

Kate's smile dims a bit but she nods very seriously.

"Yeah. Are they good? Cause they should be good. I got both my Christmas wishes so he should get the best cookies!"

"Hmm," Phil replies thoughtfully, testing a cookie in his palm to make sure it's cool enough for her. "Do you think if you tried one you could decide?"

"Yes please!"

"Well then I think that's the best way don't you?"

Smiling, Kate climbs up onto a chair at the island while Phil pours her a glass of milk, thinks twice and pours another for her father. By the time he turns around and puts it in front of her with a single sugar cookie on a napkin, Clint's appeared, and he's standing over Kate with a smile on his face, sneaks her cookie and takes a big bite before he hands it back to her.

_"Daddyyyy!"_

"Aw, you don't need cookies Katie-Cat," he says, smacking a theatrical kiss to the top of her head. "You're sweet enough already."

"You can always use more cookies," Phil argues, and to his amusement Kate just widens her eyes and waves at him in a very Clint-like gesture that says _see?_

Phil snickers, slides another cookie onto Kate's napkin and two onto another for her dad. Clint smiles at him happily and takes a big bite, then sits down on the stool next to his daughter as he turns to switch out the sheet pans in the oven.

"So what Christmas wishes did Santa give you baby?" Clint asks.

_BANG!_

_"Shit,"_ Phil mutters under his breath, only just saving the tray of cookies he'd fumbled onto the countertop as his body goes cold, all his instincts suddenly on high alert, screaming _danger!_

"I got to stay home with _you_ for Christmas Daddy!" Kate explains happily, and Phil gets just a tiny bit of his breath back, because that's ok, Clint knew _that_ already... "An' I asked Santa if Mr. Phil could come be your friend for Christmas!"

SHIT.

Silence.

Dead, utter silence, and Phil's stomach fills up with hot, leaden _dread_ because oh god, he can guess exactly what Clint is thinking right now, he can...

He turns around just in time to see Clint get up from his chair in silence and _bolt,_ obviously trying his level best not to actively _run_ from the room without an explanation and failing miserably. Kate looks to Phil with horror on her face, and as much as he wants to go after her father he can't leave the little girl in distress like this.

"It's ok," he murmurs, stroking her hair, even though it's really, really not. "You didn't do anything wrong. Why don't you finish your cookie and I'll go check on Dad, ok?"

Kate chews her lip – another terribly familiar gesture – but thankfully seems to sense the tension and nods, settling back down onto her stool enough that Phil feels comfortable leaving her alone for a minute as he runs after her father.

"Clint," he calls sharply as he slips quickly through the living room, catching him by the elbow as he attempts to disappear into the back of the apartment. "Clint wait!" 

He feels bad, ok, of course he feels bad for using his Ranger voice, his commanding officer's tone, but he'll be damned if he's going to let this happen, if he's going to let a perfect Christmas be ruined by a misunderstanding.

"Let go Phil," Clint says lowly, his voice nearly cracking with poorly-concealed hurt. "You knew, you... is that why? Is that why you wouldn't say anything, why you had that _stupid_ Confidentiality Clause? Is that why you were doing all this, because _Kate..."_

"Stop," Phil begs, and there must be enough hurt in his own voice that Clint can hear it, because he does stop, stops babbling brokenly and stops pulling against his hold, enough that Phil lets go of him and instead ghosts his fingers up his arm to his shoulder. "Clint stop! It's not what you're thinking..."

"Sure as hell looks like it," Clint growls, and now it's anger he's projecting – unsurprising but still hurtful. "I don't need your pity Coulson. I don't need..."

"Would you just hush for half a minute and let me explain?" Phil huffs, but he can see Clint opening his mouth, gearing up for a tirade.

He doesn't even let him get started.

Clint's indignant squawk is cut off sharply as Phil tugs him around, takes his face between his hands, and lays the best kiss on him that he knows how to give. It's hot and insistent and full of tongue, hunger and clashing teeth, and it's the best kiss Phil's ever shared with anyone in his life, and as it slowly gentles down to soft, lingering pecks he doesn't want it to ever end. 

Leaning his forehead against Clint's, he stares into his eyes, bright and fearful and full of hope, strokes his thumbs over his cheekbones.

"It wasn't pity," he explains, indignation of his own hot in his chest. "Kate didn't want you to be alone for Christmas, true, but Clint, it's not just her Christmas wish Santa granted this year."

"I don't..."

"God, you really don't, do you?" Phil asks, stunned that a man who sees so much could have truly missed all of Phil's painfully obvious pining. "Clint, I met you and Kate two years ago and I've only fallen more in love with you every day since."

Clint jerks back, stares at him like he doesn't believe what he's heard, and for all of another heart-stopping second Phil thinks he's ruined everything, that it's not what he thought and it's over...

But no.

No, it's only his turn to have his spiraling thoughts and crippling anxieties cut off by being well and thoroughly kissed, and he leans into it like it's the only thing he's ever really wanted in his life. 

_"Daddy!"_

They break apart like teenagers, both blushing furiously as Kate stands in the doorway of the living room, looking at them with a disappointment far beyond her years as she taps her little foot on the floor, and once more Phil feels his heart try to shrivel up in his chest at her expression, but she keeps him in even less suspense than her father had, pointing imperiously to the little sprig of mistletoe tacked above her head. 

"You missed!" she declares, looking at her father like he's shattered all her illusions. "You're supposed to kiss _under_ the mistletoes."

"You know, I think you're right Kate-Cat," Clint says, suddenly all smiles and gleaming eyes and sheer, unadulterated happiness. Grabbing Phil by the hand, he hauls him along until they're standing beside her beneath the fake bunch of leaves and holly, scoops the little girl up onto his hip so that they're all three standing in a little triangle, his free hand on Phil's waist. "Maybe we should try again."

He hadn't thought kisses could get better than the two he'd just had.

A six year old girl proves him wrong.

Putting her hands on her father's face, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, then turns to Phil and gives him the same treatment, easy as anything. Clint's fingers tighten on his side and he looks at Phil like he's got the answers to everything, and Phil's heart swells in his chest with how much he loves these two people, the relief now that everything is suddenly, wonderfully different.

"Yeah," Clint sighs, like he knows exactly what Phil's thinking, like he agrees with him wholeheartedly. "Best. Christmas. Ever."


End file.
